


when you're a cut above all the rest

by mallfacee



Series: Breathe [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Depression, Eating Disorders, Multi, Self-Harm, seriously heed the tags on this fic, seriously so much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 13:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallfacee/pseuds/mallfacee
Summary: In the morning, he will be Ensign Crusher, a crew member of the USS Enterprise, child-prodigy and perfect son. In the morning, he won’t be Wesley the anxious mess who cuts himself, never eats as much as he needs, and who forces himself to throw up at two in the morning.Wesley looks at himself hard in the bathroom mirror and sighs. He decides something's gotta give.





	when you're a cut above all the rest

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Behind His Kind, Polite Face](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11899980) by [doobieace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doobieace/pseuds/doobieace). 



> Thanks to [ValiantJokingThorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValiantJokingThorn/profile) for betaing. This fic was inspired by _Behind His Kind, Polite Face_ by doobieace, which I'll link below. Send that fic some love. Please heed the tags people. You're in for a bumpy ride.

It’s two a.m. when Wesley catches himself in the bathroom mirror. He can’t think about the number of times he’s been in this position. Slowly, he eases himself up on shaky legs, flushing the toilet to rid himself of any evidence of his misdeed. He leans all of his weight on the bathroom counter, staring at himself. There are dark circles under his eyes. Wesley pushes up the sleeves of his pajamas and takes a good long look at the various cuts and scars that riddle his arms.

In the morning, it won’t be this way. In the morning, he will be Ensign Crusher, a crew member of the USS Enterprise, child-prodigy and perfect son. In the morning, he won’t be Wesley the anxious mess who cuts himself, never eats as much as he needs, and who forces himself to throw up at two in the morning.

In the morning, he won’t hate himself. He won’t look at his body and feel like everything is wrong. In the morning, he’ll be okay. 

Wesley looks at himself hard in the bathroom mirror and sighs. He decides something's gotta give. 

* * *

He never tells anyone, but he came close to staying on Aldea. Sure he was upset at being kidnapped, at seeing all the other helpless children being ripped from their families. He missed his mom more than he could say, and the idea of never seeing the bridge of the Enterprise again terrified him. But there was a brief moment, just a split second, where the realization that nobody knew him, no one expected anything, and that he could be whoever he wanted to be here.

The feeling lasted for all of a few minutes when Duana had caught Wesley experimenting with painting his nails. He had found a light pink polish in the unit’s bathroom, one he assumed belonged to Rashella. The temptation had been too much. He never had the opportunity on the Enterprise; the risk of being caught was too high.  But he had always been captivated by the way Counselor Troi always had her nails painted. The sheer femininity of it excited and terrified him. He thought of the countless times that silently envied over Troi’s hands, the way she was allowed to be pretty and feminine and perfect in a way that he could never be.  Boys didn’t paint their nails. Boys weren’t pretty. Boys turned into men like Commander Riker. Boys didn’t long for soft pretty things the way Wesley did. Most boys looked at girls and wanted to kiss them. Wesley looked at girls and wanted to be them, and that was more terrifying than he could ever say. 

He had painted his nails and watched as the pearlescent pink sparkled in the dim lights of the bathroom. For the first time, he had looked at his hands and felt pretty. It was then that he had the thought,  _ If I could feel like this every day here, I’d stay.  _

Later as he thought about it, he was pretty sure the universe was mocking him. As soon as the thought had entered his mind, Duana had come in. Moments later Wesley was sitting at the kitchen table while Duana scrubbed the polish off his nails. The thin brush she was using to scrape off the polish cut into his cuticles, leaving microscopic cuts in his skin. Wesley said nothing. He sat quietly and listened as Duana explained how  _ “This sort of thing might be acceptable for humans, but this is not how Aldean men behave.”  _ Wesley didn’t correct her, just let her believe this was a cultural misunderstanding and prayed the Aldeans never mentioned this to anyone on the Enterprise. 

Three days later when he was back on the Enterprise he takes the hottest shower the computer will allow him and stares at himself naked in the mirror. Three days of a hunger strike had left him five pounds skinnier. It wasn’t much but for a boy as thin as Wesley, it was noticeable. His hip bones stick out and his stomach caves in slightly. It makes his torso look like he has something resembling curves. Starving should have made him feel weak. Wesley looks in the mirror and then closes his eyes. He’s never felt more powerful. 

* * *

It almost scares Wesley how stupidly easy it is to get away with not eating. He thought with a mother who’s a doctor would mean he’d get caught easily. He lays awake at night and imagines all the scenarios he can involving someone confronting him. They range from his mother’s desperate crying, begging him to eat; to Picard’s stoic face relieving him from duty. He waits for these to come true. They don’t.

He attributes the bags under his eyes to stress from school, lets his sweaters cover his rapidly shrinking waistline. When it comes time for his yearly checkup he spends three days chewing nutrient tablets and puts weights in his pockets. He hides a tiny gallicite magnet in his shirt to screw up the tricorder’s readings and make his mom weigh him manually. He’s readings come back perfectly normal, and he passes his physical with flying colors. His mom makes a comment about how glad she is that he isn’t letting the stress from school get to him. 

Later that night when Wesley is puking up his dinner, he feels like the biggest liar in the world. 

* * *

The cutting only starts after his mom leaves. It starts as an accident, really. A careless mistake from dropping a glass instrument in his lab and cutting his hand when he tries to clean it up. But the feeling is intoxicating. It had been six months since he had stopped eating. The power he felt at first waned after two months. The cutting was just the next logical step to getting it back.

Being alone makes the whole thing easier. He never has to worry about getting caught. He can self-destruct in peace. 

He’s given a uniform with long thick sleeves to wear on the bridge and it almost feels like a sign. He starts getting careless with the cuts, cutting before going on duty or during bathroom breaks. The thick fabric hides the blood. Getting caught is no longer a concern. Wesley realizes slowly that nothing is a concern anymore. Wesley can’t bring himself to care about anything. 

* * *

He knows, has known for months that he can’t keep living this way. He knows if he keeps it up he’ll end up dead. He lays awake at night thinking about it, knowing that he needs to stop and just not being able to.

Salia showing up changes things. 

He meets her and it’s like electricity. The feeling is unlike anything he’s ever felt and honestly, Wesley can’t tell if he wants her or if he wants to be her. They click in a way Wesley has never been able to with someone his own age. The day they spend together, Wesley finds himself coming closer and closer to just spilling everything to her. It’s on the tip of his tongue and when the captain tells him he must cease contact with her, Wesley can’t help but feel disappointed. 

She shows up in his rooms anyway. 

Wesley can’t stop smiling when she’s there.

“Anya thought you would corrupt me,” Salia says with a teasing grin. 

“With my wild way of life?” Wesley teases back. 

“Maybe… with the normal things people do when they like each other,” Salia says,  then her hands are on him and she’s kissing him and Wesley just freezes in horror. Because all he can think of is how much he doesn’t want to be kissing a  _ girl.  _

Salia must realize this because she stops. 

“You don’t want this,” she says, and the look on her face is so understanding that Wesley wants to cry.

“No… I…” he tries, but the words feel stuck. “Salia, I like you so much. More than I’ve ever liked anyone.” 

“But my body doesn’t please you,” Salia says. Wesley shakes his head emphatically but before he can respond, Salia continues. “Maybe if I look like this?” 

And suddenly, Salia is changing. There is no longer a teenage girl in front of him. Instead, an amalgamation of every boy Wes has never let himself fantasize about sits in front of him. All of Salia’s femininity has been replaced with sharp masculine edges and then Wesley’s being kissed again and god, he wants this so much. He lets Salia move on top of him, kissing the boy deeply. Salia’s hands are running over the front of his pants, and Wesley doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life. 

The mix of pleasure and shame is overwhelming. He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until Salia pulls back, and turns back into herself. 

“You are so sad, Wesley Crusher,” she says, wiping away his tears. She moves back so she’s no longer laying between Wesley’s thighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such sadness.” 

And then Wesley is sobbing and Salia is holding him tightly, whispering soothing words in his ear. He tells her everything, the hunger, the cutting, how awful he feels in his own body, how some days he wants to look like her so much that he’d rather die than be in his own body for one more second. He tells her how he thinks he likes boys and not girls and how terrifying the thought it. He tells her about the nail polish and the confusion and how wrong he feels. 

“You are not wrong, Wesley,” Salia tells him seriously. She runs a hand through his hair. “You have shown me more kindness than anyone before in my life. I love you, Wesley.”

“I love you too,” Wesley says. “But I’m so broken, Salia. Everything hurts. I’d rather die than live like this anymore.”

Salia squeezes him. “You’re not allowed to die.” 

“Even when everything hurts like this?” Wesley asks. 

“Especially then.” 

He gets another hour in Salia’s arm before Anya comes to find them, throwing everything into chaos. 

The next morning, Salia gives him a soft kiss on the cheek and whispers in his ear, “Tell someone. Get better. For me.”

“I will,” he tells her softly. 

Salia disappears from the ship as a beam of light. All Wesley can think is that he wants to keep his promise. 

* * *

In the end, it goes like this:

Wesley is sitting in Commander Riker’s ready room, going over plans for Wes’ education when he interrupts. 

“I need help,” Wesley says all at once, speaking as though he can’t get the words out. Riker is taken aback. Wesley never interrupts. Ever. The Commander looks concerned and Wesley looks down at his lap. 

“With school…?” Riker asks like he isn’t sure where this conversation is going. Wesley shakes his head. He shuts his eyes and slowly rolls up the sleeves on his uniform. Riker lets out a shocked gasp and Wesley already knows what he’s seeing. 

“Wes… Is someone hurting you?” Riker asks and Wesley almost wants to laugh. How does he explain that he’s hurting himself?

“I… I did this.”

“Why?” 

And god isn’t that the million dollar question? Wesley doesn’t even know how to begin to explain. 

“Have… Have you ever felt like everything about you just doesn’t… fit? Like… Like your body doesn’t match what’s happening in your head.” 

“I… I can’t say I have,” Riker says, still sounding lost.

“Will… I… I like boys. Not girls,” Wes says, trying again. 

“So you’re hurting yourself?” Riker says, sounding incredulous. Wes shakes his head and oh god, he’s crying. He’s crying in front of Riker. “Cause kid that’s not a reason to do something like this.” Wes feels Riker’s hand on his back and suddenly he can’t stop sobbing. 

“It’s not just that. I feel wrong. Everything about me feels wrong. I’m fat and ugly and stupid, and nothing feels  _ right, _ ” Wes sobs out. Riker pulls Wes into a hug. 

“Okay… okay. We’re going to fix this, Wes.” Riker says. 

For the first time in a long time, Wesley believes him. 

* * *

It happens slowly. Dr. Pulaski heals his arms with only minimal scarring and puts him on a strict diet plan. They take him off active duty, and he’s set up with twice-weekly sessions with Counselor Troi. For a while, everyone keeps an annoyingly close eye on him, as if he were going to break apart before their eyes. Even Captain Picard pulls him aside and gently tells him that he believes Wesley to be a valuable member of the team.

It’s a long road but eventually, Wesley starts to gain weight back. There’s color in his skin. He starts sleeping again. He starts talking about what’s bothering him. 

“Sometimes, I want to be a girl,” He tells Deanna in one of their sessions, several months after starting treatment. Deanna smiles at him and says calmly that gender-fluidity is very common in many species. And just like that, there’s a word for how he feels. 

Wesley paints his nails a soft sparkly pink, subtle enough not to be against Starfleet uniform regulations but still very obviously pink. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he reports for bridge duty his first day back, waiting for someone to say something and ridicule him. 

Instead, Data glances at Wesley’s hands and says “My research indicates that this color of pink matches the undertones of your skin. You have chosen well.” Wesley grins at him. 

“Thanks, Data.” 

The world rights itself.


End file.
